


Nightmares + Co-dependency

by impossiblepluto



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Co-Dependency, Episode Tag, Episode: s02e15 Murdoc + Handcuffs, Gen, Hurt Angus Macgyver (Macgyver 2016), Hurt/Comfort, Protective Jack Dalton (MacGyver 2016), and emotionally whump Jack Dalton, because there should have been follow through on the burn whump, minor references to Mardis Gras Beads + Chair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23170360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/pseuds/impossiblepluto
Summary: In the aftermath of New Orleans and their most recent run in with Murdoc, Mac and Jack deal with some of their nightmares.
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 108





	Nightmares + Co-dependency

**Author's Note:**

> People say co-dependency like it's a bad thing.

Jack hates every single thing about this ill-advised mission. 

Hated it from the very start.

While he was failing horribly at the game part of game night, and sure, it was going to be a blow to his pride to lose so miserably at charades, he found he didn't mind. His usual Mac mind-reading skills interrupted by bursts of static from laughter. The first time in weeks he'd seen Mac laugh.  


Mac twisted his hands into claws, of course, it's not supposed to be claws, he's tracing the evaporator coils of a fridge, but if Jack figured out "refrigerator" they'd be accused of cheating and their team disbanded, and didn't even flinch. So, he keeps guessing things like "tiger-bear" because the story of how he fought one will make Mac laugh again. And Jack is content to lose as he watches Mac contort his fingers, flexible and flying through the air.

First time he felt the vice around his chest that had been there since New Orleans loosen. The first time that his team assembled around the fire pit. And he hated that this gathering place for his family, the place he could rely on for comfort and closeness was tainted by fears and memories.

He watched Mac closely as Bozer lit the fire preparing for their guests. He’s not too proud to admit that he flinched at the first strike of the match. Glowing in the rapidly fading light. The flicker growing, licking at the tinder, devouring the wood.

He felt his heartbeat tick faster. Thick smoke, the smell of singed hair. The stench of burning flesh. The flames dancing, coming closer. Denied their prize after staking their claim on him. And snatching Mac too this time as retribution.  


Mac dropped into the seat next to him, startling him out of his waking nightmare, saving him from those flames once again. He extended a fist to Jack. Fresh, pink flesh, still healing and tender but intact. Healthy. Whole.

Jack reached out, slowly. Gently. His fist brushing against Mac’s. 

“Thank you.”

Mac smiled at him.

“Where are your compression gloves?” Jack frowned, catching Mac’s bare hand, turning it over, palm up, fingers brushed the skin, tracing the outline of his fingers in a familiar action. Until recently, Jack completed daily dressing changes on the burns, washing his hands and coating them in salve before wrapping them loosely for protection. He’d graduated to compression sleeves only, to keep the swelling down. 

“Doc said I could take them off at night,” Mac shrugged. 

“I think he meant while you were sleeping, not for game night.”

“I’ll take it easy,” Mac promised and Jack snorted. “I will. I wore the gloves all day, and kept them elevated. I’m going back to work the day after tomorrow, I just don’t want everyone seeing them and seeing my weakness. Besides, holding a cold beer will probably help with swelling.”

“You aren’t weak, Mac. You’re the bravest man I know.”

And that was the last of his reprieve from fear. 

Fletcher showed up. Rang the front doorbell. 

Could have walked about the house to the back and decimated them. Thankfully decided to continue Murdoc’s cat and mouse game but succinctly ruined game night. 

Jack called TAC. Matty called Phoenix Agents. Mac’s house once again a crime scene. Diane escorted home and Riley went with her. Matty and Bozer to the Phoenix. And Mac and Jack to their date with Murdoc’s merry band of criminals. 

With Murdoc, nothing is as it seems. 

Jack hates the way Murdoc can get into Mac’s head. Twist him up in knots. Read him like a book and play with his insecurities. Jack wishes he could just take Murdoc out, but Count Cuckoo is always quick to surrender before Jack has justification to shoot him. He doesn’t subscribe to Batman logic, but he doesn’t think Mac will take it well if Jack just walks over and puts a bullet in Murdoc’s brain. Especially when he’s in their custody and at their mercy. 

Maybe he should broach the topic with Mac before the next time Captain Crazypants comes out to play. 

Jack complains the whole trip. Mac needs something to drown out Murdoc’s taunts and too close to the truth barbs. So Jack rants about stealing a minivan, and hopping a train like a hobo out to see the country and threatens to bean Murdoc with the can of beans if he doesn’t shut up. 

And the freak snowstorm that has them slip-sliding through the parking lot and into the warehouse. Because, on top of everything else, it would start to snow. Tracing their footprint and leaving a guided map of their path.  


But most vehemently, Jack protests reprising the role of bait in Mac’s trap. Not so much the bait part, though he has to admit being chased by the guy who trained Murdoc is disconcerting, but the leaving Mac alone part to finish building said trap while two homicidal maniacs are on the loose. Plural. 

Jack points his finger at Mac, wanting to lecture him, warn him to be careful, and complain that he’s still not wearing his compression gloves, and he can see that Mac’s hands are looking raw and painfully chapped from the cold. 

“Go.” Mac orders and Jack knows he can read all of that and more in his eyes.

It’s always a warehouse. Not that running through an abandoned shopping mall would be any better but that might break up the monotony of it all. 

He clears one room and then the next, shipping containers and pallets separating the aisles and creating a maze. It’s cold enough that he can see his breath. Small puffs that hang in the air. He barely noticed them before between the running and the hiding but now that he’s slowing down, creeping through the makeshift hallways the chill is sinking into his bones. He pulls the collar of his leather jacket closed. 

If he’s feeling it then Mac’s gotta be frozen solid. The instant this is over he’s getting Mac some soup. Something thick and hearty. And maybe some hot chocolate, the sweetest he can find. And he’s going to warm up those hands, more susceptible to changes in temperatures right now. He finds himself longing for the fire pit from the night before for the warmth and the security it provides. Wishes he could shake himself from this nightmare.

The crack of gunfire echoes through the warehouse. It sends Jack's blood pressure through the roof. His racing heart louder than those gunshots. He tears back along the route he just cleared, resisting the urge to yell for Mac. Keeping his location a secret and giving himself the advantage. 

He surrenders the element of surprise the instant he catches a glimpse into the large room he’d left Mac in just moments before. He’s not sure what he expected to find when he races in but it’s worse. It’s the stuff his nightmares are made of. 

Helman is dead, fine by him, one less maniac in this world to worry about.

Mac writhes on the cold floor. Blood soaking through his blue button-down. It's so close, too close to the wound from Lake Como, and Jack feels his heart stop. He can't focus on that now.

Murdoc is standing over Mac with a gun. That creepy, psychotic smile, and approaching Mac like a predator taunting his prey before the kill.

"Drop it!" Jack yells, a note of hysteria in his voice.

"Jack, it's okay," there's pain in Mac's voice, but it's steady and strong. Reassuring.

Murdoc spares him a glance, as if disappointed that his fun's been interrupted. He slowly raises a hand, showing he's not a threat. “I just saved MacGyver’s life, you really think I’m going to take it now?” His voice drips condescension. 

Then empties his clip into Mac.

Jack can't react fast enough. He's lunging forward, to kill Murdoc, to staunch the blood spurting from Mac’s chest...

And out of the chair at Mac's bedside with a shout.

Panic blinding him, his knees hit the cold faux wood floor, that his brain tells him is still the frigid concrete of the warehouse. His fingers scramble, searching for Mac's shredded body, holding him through his gasping last breaths, feeling his icy cold hands and watching the light fade from his eyes before Jack rips the gun away from Murdoc and feeds it to him.

"Jack," Mac calls, he's struggling with blankets, and wires and the side rails of the bed reaching for his partner. His movements clumsy, disoriented, residual effects of anesthesia, but desperately seeking Jack.

Jack's not sure Mac even knows where he is right now, only that he must have heard Jack cry out in his nightmares.

"Hey, bud," Jack says, forcing his racing heart to slow, and willing his voice to be steady. "It's okay."

Mac's eyes are wide. He looks around, only now taking in their surroundings. The dim light of the monitor tracking Mac’s vital signs illuminates the room. As Jack lowers one side rail and sits on the edge of the bed he can see the multicolored lights of the telemetry monitor leads tracing Mac’s panic. He places a hand on Mac’s uninjured bare shoulder, watching as it rises and falls with Mac’s gasping breaths. It's as much for his comfort as it is for Mac. Grounding them both in the moment, bringing them out of their dreams.  


A nightmare. More like a night terror. His worst fear brought to life by his imagination. 

Murdoc was a man of his word and tossed the gun aside. Secured with zip ties Mac had found, to a chilly metal pipe while Jack put pressure against Mac’s wound. Singular. One gun bullet hole. One too many. Mac bit his lips almost bloody holding back cries of pain. His eyes screaming to Jack  _ it hurts _ , begging Jack to help him but his tongue never voicing the words. Never giving Murdoc the satisfaction of hearing his cries of pain. Never stabbing the words like a dagger through Jack's heart.  


There's nothing Jack can do to ease Mac's pain. No way to help except hold steady, painful pressure on the wound, focus Mac's attention on himself, and block Murdoc's view of his partner.

Mac raises a shaky hand and runs it through his hair. "Are you okay?"

"You're the one who got shot, kiddo," Jack says, trying to gently ease Mac back against the pillows. "Lay back."

"No, I heard you yell. I thought," Mac shakes his head but allows Jack to help him lay back down. "I didn't think I was having a nightmare."

Jack grimaces. "I think you heard mine, pal. I'm sorry."

Mac starts to push himself back up. "Are you okay?" He asks again, concern mars his features, his eyes scanning his partner as he puts his hand on Jack’s shoulder. 

"Hey," Jack says, catching Mac's face in his hands. "We're okay."

"Yeah?" Mac's eyes opened too wide. Pupils dilated so only faint rings of blue are seen around them. “I thought. I thought I failed.”

“Nah, we got him. Helman’s dead. Murdoc’s in custody.”

“No, not that. You yelled,” Mac whispers. His eyes flood with tears. Emotions too close to the surface, defenses artificially lowered by pain and drugs. “I didn’t know how… there wasn’t anything I could… the gas was off and it wasn’t enough. You yelled and I couldn’t save you.”

“Aw, Mac, you did save me,” Jack brushes a hand through Mac’s hair. “I’m right here.”

“But I don’t in my dreams. I heard you yell and I thought I was having a nightmare. That’s how it always goes. You yell and I fail. The one time that you need me to save you, after all the times you’ve saved me and I fail.”

“Hold on a second there, hoss. That’s a load of bull and if you were thinking clearly you’d know that.” One hand drops to Mac’s neck, resting against his galloping pulse. Jack’s thumb smoothes along Mac’s jaw. “You’ve saved my life a thousand times over. You save my life every day. You hear me? Every damn day.” 

The heartbeat against his fingertips is slowing. 

“But what if I can’t?”

“Then there wasn’t ever a way out.” Jack’s thumb continues its rhythmic strokes. “If I ever bite it, it wasn’t your fault. There was nothing you could have done. I don’t care what your nightmares try to tell you.”

Mac shrugs, frowning when the motion tugs on his stitches. 

“We might have to revisit this topic again when you’re more awake for it,” Jack says. 

“‘m awake.” 

“You’re exhausted,” Jack runs his hand through Mac’s hair again before he starts moving from his spot on the bed. "Last couple of weeks have been anything but restful."

“Don’t leave?” Mac raises onto his elbow, reaching out, eyes imploring.  


“‘Course not. Not ever, but especially not after today. I need you nice and close. Go on, lay back.” Mac reluctantly acquiesces with Jack’s encouragement. "There ya go. Good boy."  He tucks the blankets around Mac’s bare shoulders, then pulls the hospital-style recliner closer to Mac, settling into the deep chair.

“You were having a nightmare, that one I thought I was having.” Mac’s hand snakes out from under the covers, palm up.

“Well, my own version of my worst fear. I wasn’t enough to save you.” Jack reaches out, tracing Mac’s palm and each finger before closing his around Mac’s hand in a light clasp.

“That’s dumb.”

“About as dumb as yours, hoss.”

“You always save me.” 

“Still doesn’t mean I don’t worry that someday I won’t be enough.”

“Guess Bozer is right,” Mac sighs. 

Jack smiles as Mac’s grip tightens on his hand, even as he snuggles deeper into his pillow. “About what, hoss?”

"That we’re co-dependent.”

“Hmm,” Jack murmurs as Mac’s breathing deepens and he feels himself start to relax knowing that Mac is safe, healing and peacefully sleeping. “Maybe we are. But I don’t think that’s such a bad thing.” 


End file.
